


From the Ground Up

by beatlelover22



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Cold, Common Cold, F/M, Fever, In which Negan is sick and also a shit, Sick Character, Sick Negan, Sickfic, Sneezing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-13 12:02:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21243767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beatlelover22/pseuds/beatlelover22





	1. Wholly Miserable

Negan didn’t often fall ill, but when he did, it was awful and he was almost always wholly miserable.

Luckily for him, his treasure of a wife, Maggie, was a natural-born caretaker. She was bred to help and he loved looking down into those hazel-green eyes, seeing that sweet half-smile she’d give him.

A coughing fit broke him out of his thoughts. Negan shakily reached for the half-filled glass of water on his bedside table and brought it to his lips, sipping carefully. A sudden tickle in his throat brought the cough back full-force and he choked, coughing and spluttering as he brought the cup back down on the table.

Maggie popped her head in nervously. “You okay in here?”

Negan, still coughing, managed to reply. “Y-yeah, just got choked up. You know it is, sweetie.”

She nodded, concern furrowing her brow as she came to his side. Even sick as he was, in bed, Negan was still wearing his favorite leather jacket and white T-shirt, with a dirty pair of jeans. His face was shiny with sweat and Maggie extended a shaking hand to his forehead.

He grabbed her wrist with surprising strength and Maggie felt her stomach tighten. “What is it, sweetheart? Are you still scared of—”

Negan’s breath caught and his jaw went slack before he sucked in another gasp of air and broke off into a small fit of squelching sneezes, still holding Maggie’s wrist. “_Heh’**TSSSCHOOO!** H-hehhh… hh’**TSSSHUHHH!**_”

He winced with the sheer effort sneezing took out of him before he was straightening up again, sniffling into his own wrist with annoyance.

“Bless you,” she said earnestly, silently wishing he would let go of her wrist. She just wanted to take his temperature.

Negan grunted, letting go of her wrist, and sniffled again. Maggie took the opportunity to slowly, gently place the back of her hand on his forehead. The heat coming off his skin was alarming and he was obviously fevered. She let her hand trail down his cheek and thankfully, Negan allowed this.

“Excuse the shit out of my goddamn French but that feels good, Maggie,” he said breathlessly, eyes closing.

Truly, Maggie had never seen him this way — helpless, sick.

“You’ve got a fever. We should probably try to bring it down, or at least see how high it is.” She turned around, looking around their small home. “I’m sure we’ve got a thermometer somewhere around here, or some medicine, right?”

Maggie tried to think. The two of them had been living in this house for about eight months now — a good, long time. It had been a few years since Negan had forced Maggie — no, encouraged her — to become his wife.

Even so, she still couldn’t find everything all the time. The bedside table had a few items of memorabilia — a few photographs, some hand-written notes, and strangely enough, someone’s tooth — but no medicine. 

Negan was pinching the bridge of his nose, in the midst of a sinus pressure induced headache. “All our medical stuff is in the bathroom, Mags.”

Something in her stomach twisted whenever he called her that. She didn’t know if it was a dislike, an anxious feeling, or God forbid, love.

Maggie nodded and ducked into their cramped bathroom, throwing open the cabinets as gently as she could. From the other room, she heard Negan sneezing again, which just seemed to intensify her need to find something to help him.

“_Hh’**RDSSSCHOO!** Hihhh… h-heh! H-heh’**RHFFFFFF!**_”

Ah ha. She rummaged through the contents of the cabinet, searching for cold medicine of some sort. Of course, they didn’t have any. Maggie signed and snatched a bottle of ibuprofen. This would have to do. At the very least, it would help him get rid of his headache.

“Hey,” she began nervously, grabbing the bottle tightly in her hand. “We actually didn’t have any—”

Negan turned to the side, away from Maggie, and sneezed heavily without covering his mouth. “_H-hahhH! Hih’**RRSSCHHH!**_”

“Bless you,” she said sympathetically. “We didn’t have any cold medicine.”

His watery eyes narrowed in anger and Maggie felt her mouth go dry at his reaction. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he snapped, scrambling to sit up straighter.

But Maggie took the time to study his face, besides the anger written all over it. The thin sheen of sweat on his pale skin, his watery, red-rimmed eyes, the pinkened edges of his nostrils, his chapped lips… she had never seen him this weak, or this sick if she was being honest.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I did find some ibuprofen in the cabinet. You know, for your head.”

Maggie stepped closer and dropped two tablets in Negan’s open palm. Still frowning, he was oddly quiet for a moment as he took the time to reach for the glass of water, take a large sip, and swallow. Negan smacked his lips dramatically, as if he’d just finished a fine meal. Then, to Maggie’s surprise, he swung his legs out of bed.

“Wh-where are you going?” Maggie cleared her throat, silently cursing her trembling voice.

“Out,” Negan replied with a frustrated grunt, forcing his boots on and quickly tying the laces. “I can’t stay in this shithole forever.”

He sounded irritated and Maggie knew at times like this, it was best to leave him alone. His moods were so turbulent, it was usually easiest to ride them out, like disobedient waves bound to crash on the seashore.

“What do you want me to do?”

Negan stood up briskly, sniffed, and vigorously rubbed at his nose with his forefinger. “How about you cook us up somethin’ good to eat, huh sugar?”

She nodded obediently and watched him grab Lucille on the way out, hand trembling. Maggie knew wherever he was going or whatever he was doing, he wasn’t going to be able to do so for long. He was weak from fever, weak from not eating enough the past few days, and certainly his sneezes would be getting in the way of whatever he wanted to be doing.

He marched out of the house with his signature gait and slammed the door. 


	2. Pent-up Frustrations

Negan rubbed at his nose roughly as he made his way through the woods. He stepped on sticks and branches with no concern for how much noise he was making. Lying in bed had made him absolutely stir crazy and now — now he was ready to have some fun.

“Come on, motherfuckers!” he shouted, breaking the mid-evening silence and causing a few birds to make flight in panic. “Let’s get it!”

Yelling made his throat hut worse than it already did, but he continued through until he heard a familiar, guttural growl, soft as it was. Negan stopped to listen and tilted his head to the side to hear better. This fucking cold had created so much pressure in his ears that he was having trouble hearing, which the head tilting was supposed to alleviate.

Unfortunately, this quick movement made his sinuses prickle and he snapped forward, his sneezes just as hoarse as his voice was.

“_H-heh’**SZSSHHHOO!**_” Negan gasped dramatically as a second sneeze approached and just managed to pinch his flaring nostrils closed at the last second. “_Ihh… hihhH! **HPFSSHHSH!**_”

Negan ended the ticklish fit with a soft groan and felt his posture sag, a true reminder of how horrible he was currently feeling. This was fucking embarrassing. Thank god Maggie was back at home, cooking him something in the kitchen, where she belonged.

A walker stumbled out of the brush and into Negan’s line of sight, turning toward the sudden sounds. Its mouth was open and was indeed producing the low growl he’d heard earlier. Sniffling, Negan gripped Lucille tightly in his hand.

“Hiya, there,” he said as the thing sauntered toward him. “Heard my call, did ya?”

Negan loved this game.

As the walker reached out a desperate, rotting arm, Negan swung Lucille high and she landed with a sickening blow, right on top of the walker’s head. He brought the weapon up again and smashed its head in completely.

Negan picked up Lucille and examined her, noticing the blood and wispy hairs stuck in her nails. Oh well. He’d just have to do a deep clean sometime soon.

A breeze swept through the woods, shaking the leaves of the trees around him, and as the wind blew toward his face, his nostrils reacted with a vengeance. He scrunched his nose and felt his lip curl, exposing his teeth in a little snarl.

“_H-hehh… hahhH! Hh’**TSSSHUHHH! **AhH! Hep’**SSSHAHHH!**_”

Damn this fucking cold, Negan thought to himself, sniffling into his T-shirt. Fucking ridiculous.

Another walker was crawling toward him and it took all his effort not to just roll his eyes and laugh at it. Instead, he took his steel-toed boot and kicked it in the face until it stopped squirming.

“Come and get me!” Negan announced loudly, spreading his arms out wide. He felt powerful. So powerful.

Suddenly, a walker with astonishingly long hair stumbled up to him and grabbed his shoulder. Negan let out a choked gasp of surprise and fell back. He scrambled to his feet but came up swinging. He was not going to let this stupid motherfucker ruin his day.

Lucille connected solidly with the side of the walker’s head and Negan relaxed when it ceased to move. “Dumb fuck,” he said to it, spitting on its corpse. “Dumb as _sh-shihhh… huh’**RHFFSSHHHH!**_”

He lunged forward with the sneeze, which left him dizzy and his head felt heavy. Negan sniffled with purpose and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see two walkers approaching. To his dismay — an emotion he didn’t experience too often — Negan felt himself getting hot. Not heated as in angry but hot as in sweating.

Negan was lightheaded and cursed himself for his moment of weakness. He swallowed, his throat dry, and suddenly found himself nauseous. Jesus fuck.

He stumbled and inadvertently felt his knees buckle. He collapsed into the damp dirt of the forest’s floor. Negan struggled to get in a good breath and watched the pair of walkers approach. There were black spots in his vision and as Negan’s hearing faded away and his sight failed him, he only felt one thing: fear. 


	3. Catching On

Maggie watched from the window from about 300 meters away as Negan collapsed. And just like that, she threw open the door to their small house and took off running.

Her boots pounded the earth and her thighs burned as she ran at full speed, like a marathon runner. Her gut told her not to shout for him, as she could see a few walkers approaching the area where he lie and didn’t necessarily want to attract them to where she was.

Once she was close enough, Maggie stopped and took aim, her breathing ragged.

Her finger found the trigger of her .22 caliber rifle and she pulled it. With a loud, thunderous bang, Maggie saw one walker fall, then aimed for the other.

Once they were both still, she took off again, toward Negan.

She stood over him, panting, and quickly searched his exposed skin for any scratches, cuts, or other abrasions.

“Negan,” she whispered, running up and crouching by him. “Negan. Wake up.”

Both her hands were on his shoulder, shaking him. Maggie placed the back of her hand on his forehead again and cursed. He was much too hot. Jesus.

For some reason, feeling the heat off his skin brought her back to some other negative but distant memory — a faint memory of her half-sister, Beth. She was 15, just before the apocalypse and she—

Maggie shook her head as if trying to shake the memories out of her mind. Negan needed her now, not Beth. Beth had been long gone.

Shaking, she removed his leather jacket and tugged his sweat-soaked T-shirt off. “Negan!”

Negan blearily opened one eye and then the other. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his head and he looked up at her, dazed. His breathing was ragged and he coughed a little.

“Can you hear me?”

Negan’s mouth stretched open, Maggie thought, for the purpose of talking. Instead, his eyelids fluttered shut and his nostrils quivered. “_H-hih’**RRDSSCHHH!**_”

He sniffled lazily, and ran the knuckle of his forefinger beneath the his nose’s tip, trying to ease the tickle. There were dark circles under his eyes and he looked simply exhausted. Negan licked his lips, trying to get some moisture for his dry throat.

He looked awful but at least he was alive. Maggie sighed in relief.

“Let’s get you to your feet.”

She helped him up and the two made their way back to the house, one step at a time. Negan’s arm was thrown around Maggie’s shoulder and her knees bent under the added weight as she helped him, best she could.

Although she fully expected it, her heart still sank when Negan tried to wrestle out of her grip.

“I don’t — I don’t need your help, woman,” Negan snapped, trying to break away from Maggie’s grasp.

But he was exhausted and weak, and frankly, rather unable to free himself from his wife’s awkward embrace as they stumbled forward.

Like the “good wife,” as he often called her, Maggie tried her best to support him. “You’re ill, you… you’re sick. You need rest.”

“I d-do not,” Negan said quickly, breath quivering uncertainly as he lingered just beyond the breaking point of a satisfying, gut-wrenching sneeze. “_H-huhhh… Hh’**WRHFFFHH!**_”

She watched him closely as they approached the house. He snuffled into the back of his hand in a desperate attempt to keep his nose from running.

“Bless you,” Maggie told him gently, as they made their way back into the house.

The door was still cracked open where she’d left it and she kicked it closed behind her. Maggie helped Negan sit down on the couch they had in the living room — a purple and green plaid thing, truly ugly — and unlaced his muddy boots.

She saw Negan involuntarily shiver and break out in goosebumps without his shirt, but Maggie knew she needed to get his fever down before almost anything else.

“Are you hungry?” she asked, putting his boots aside.

Negan looked up at her, clad only in some dirty denim pants and his thick socks. “Hell yeah,” he said, nodding. “What’s cookin’ good lookin’?”

His now-playful mood effectively threw her off, but Maggie went into the kitchen anyway and returned with a steaming bowl. While he was out doing God knows what, shooting at walkers for seemingly no reason, Maggie had set herself up in the kitchen, bringing in tomatoes, peppers and okra from the garden and unwrapping a large chuck of rabbit meat that Negan had caught and skinned recently.

“It’s soup. Made with vegetables from the garden and some rabbit.”

Negan chuckled, mood suddenly lighter. “You know me so well, Mags. If I could smell anything, I bet this would smell damn delicious”

The hot broth was both clearing up his sinuses and making his nose run. He sniffled thickly before rooting through the pile of clothes on the floor for his handkerchief. Evidently, he found it just in time because no sooner had Negan tugged the cloth out of the pocket, his nostrils began to betray him again.

“Oh, f-for _f-fuhh_… f-fuck’s—” Negan broke off and buried his red nose in the welcoming comfort of the cloth. “_H-heh’**RFSSHHHH! ATSCHSSSHHH!**_”

Maggie had been diligently cleaning off his boot and jumped at the sudden loud sound. She looked over just in time to see Negan hitching desperately into the handkerchief. “_Ahhh… h-hahHH! H-hh’**RRDSCHHH!**_”

The sneeze tore through him and she saw another round of goosebumps travel down his arms. Frankly, it was difficult not to feel bad for him when he was this sick.

“Bless you,” Maggie said sympathetically as she sat next to him. “How’re you feeling?”

Negan suddenly glared at her through watery eyes, mood completely flipped on its head. “How the fuck do you think I’m feeling?”

Maggie was taken aback, but perhaps not too shocked. “I— I’m sorry, I only meant—”

To her surprise, Negan immediately shook his head. “I know, I’m sorry honey. This cold is just _k-kihhh_… kicking my ass.”

It was strange for him to be this open and honest with her. And him feeling bad for doing something? Well, it was certainly new for him.

“Okay, well, why don’t we go to bed early tonight?” Maggie suggested, gently rubbing his back. “I know you’re sick of being in bed but you’ve had a long day and you’ll get better faster if you can get some sleep.”

Negan sniffled and nodded. “You know what, Mags? You just might be right.”

He took another few spoonfuls of his soup — making sure to at least eat the protein of the meal — and pushed the bowl away. To Maggie, it seemed almost childlike in notion and she smiled in spite of herself.

Negan stood up shakily, his nostrils fluttering with the intense need to sneeze again. “I’m going to _t-tuhh_… t-turn in,” he told her, scrubbing at his nose. “This fucking tickle won’t leave me alone.”

“I know,” she said, trying to sympathize. “I’ll lock up the house and join you.”

Their home had a significant locking system that Negan had essentially installed, which included two deadbolts. After a few months of living together, he eventually explained and showed her how to effectively lock up the house, which put her more at ease. Living out here wasn’t easy.

As the two made their way to the bedroom, Maggie made sure to grab another glass of water to put by the bedside table, just in case. She figured Negan’s cough would be back and it would be a long night if he kept that up. Then again, he couldn’t help it, could he?

“You Maggie… you’re special,” Negan told her as he lumbered into bed and patted the side next to him. “You’re somethin’ else.”

She smiled lightly, prepared and ready for his mood to change completely, for little to no reason. “Need anything?”

Thankfully, he shook his head and pulled the blankets up to his chin. “Nope. Night, sweet thing,” he said. 


	4. Fever Dreams

The moment Maggie awoke, she knew something was horribly wrong. She was close to Negan and could that feel the heat coming off his skin was so very hot. He had been coughing almost all night, but she could hear him talking in his sleep too.

Before she could think to do anything, Negan had just started to shout and thrash about, something she’d never seen him do before. Frankly, it scared her.

“Stop it! Stop it, stop it!” he screamed, arms flailing.

Maggie bit her lip, at first unsure of what to do as she didn’t want to anger him, but finally shook him awake. “Negan. Negan.”

“Wh-where ab I?” he asked thickly, sniffling.

There was sweat on his brow and she knew he must be near-delirious with fever. Instead of answering his question, Maggie felt his head and reeled back in alarm. He was on fire.

“Let me take your temperature,” she said, shaking with nerves.

Luckily, they did have a thermometer in the cabinet.

Maggie helped Negan sit up and saw that he was shivering. “Here, open your mouth.”

To her surprise, he did so without arguing, and she guided the thermometer under his tongue. She knew he must be very sick to not put up a fight.

“B-Bags? I’ve godda _sd-sdehh_… sd-sdeeze,” Negan stammered, attempted to talk through the cold-induced tickle he was suffering from.

“You can’t,” Maggie told him quickly, rubbing his arm. “Just hold it back for a few seconds, okay?”

With a shaky finger placed purposefully under his twitching nostrils, Negan patiently waited it out. After about a minute, the thermometer beeped and her heart sank. “It’s 103.4.”

As soon as the thermometer was out of his mouth, Negan gulped in a huge breath before sneezing harshly off to the side. “Baggie, I’ve godda sd— _h-heh’**SZZSSHHHOO!**_”

His breath caught again but the sneeze was lost. Negan sniffled miserably and scrubbed at his cold-ridden nose.

“Man, I love a gal thad can take care of be,” Negan croaked, settling back into the cold fabric of his pillow. “Even whed I’b sdeezig because of a fuckig head cold, you still take care of be.”

Maggie shushed him and brushed his sweaty hair out of his face. “Just relax. I’m going to get you a cool cloth to put on your forehead, okay? We just need to bring this fever down and you’ll be feeling a little better, I promise.”

She was only gone a few minutes but by the time she returned, Negan was already sitting up, sneezing into his hands again.

“_Hih’**RDSSSCHOO!** H-huhhh… ahhhH!_” Negan was on the brink of sneezing again when the sensation dissipated. “Hoo. Id wend away,” he told her.

But not long after he spoke of course, the tickle soon returned full force until Negan was gasping with the urge to sneeze. “_UhhH! H-huh’**SZSSHHHOO!**_”

He relaxed again, back into the pillow, and Maggie took the opportunity to place a damp washcloth on his forehead.

Once the cold rag was neatly placed on his brow, Negan shivered visibly. His eyes were glassy and they pleaded with Maggie.

“Please, it’s too cold. I’m so cold.”

“I know,” she told him, biting her lip again. “But we need to bring your fever down. It’s too high and—”

“_Hh’**RRHFFFHH!**_”

“Bless you. It’s too high and if it gets any higher, it’ll start to get dangerous.”

She found herself having trouble explaining this to someone so delirious with fever, he himself couldn’t imagine how deadly it could be. Walkers had been the main danger for a very long time, but Maggie didn’t underestimate a high temperature.

Negan snuffled into his shirt sleeve miserably, rubbing his red nose on his wrist. “By dose is itchy, Bags.”

Maggie sighed. “I know.”

She truly had never seen Negan like this. So helpless and dependent on her. And, of course, out of his mind with fever. What a classic combination.

“Cad you sigg to be?”

It was as if the world had stopped spinning. “What did you say?” Maggie asked, shocked. Did he just ask her to—?

“Sigg to be. Like a sog thad you like,” Negan said, scrubbing at his irritated nose for the millionth time that day.

She swallowed nervously, laughing. “I can’t sing, you know that.”

“Adythig, please,” Negan croaked, sniffling. “I love your voice.”

Jesus. She clearly had no choice. If Negan was in his right mind, he would’ve never asked this of her, and yet… Maggie cleared her throat, bothered by the absurdity of her current situation.

“Okay, okay. When I was growing up, I loved Fleetwood Mac and Stevie Nicks wrote this great song.”

Of course, “Landslide.” A classic song that Negan would likely recognize, even in his fevered state. Maggie wanted to laugh again at the sheer bizarreness of her current situation, but instead cleared her throat again and began to hum the melody. Meanwhile, Negan closed his eyes and listened to her hum before she began to sing.

“I took my love, and I took it down,” she sang quietly, moving closer to him. “Climbed a mountain then I turned around, and I saw my reflection in the snow-covered hill ’til the landslide brought it down.”

The words of the song began to bleed together in Negan’s mind as he drifted off to sleep, listening to the godsend that was Maggie. And as she continued to move through the verses in a slight Southern twang, she quickly realized to her relief, that he was finally, solidly asleep.

She watched his chest move up and down, steadily, and observed how peaceful he looked. With a secret wish, Maggie asked whatever entity that was listening if it could last forever. 


End file.
